No, Patriarchy, I will Not Have a Threesome with You

[This article was originally published in Issue 01 of Roundtable Journal]

Fresh out of a long ass relationship, slowly starting to feel myself again, and casually texting this fine ass guy. As a newly single woman-girl who deeply missed sex, I was searching for something (someone?) to occupy my free time other than getting high and lurking through Instagram. Going for drinks with aforementioned fine guy and getting licked out seemed to be the best next step, naturally.

And so I did. We had sex the morning after a night out (your girl got way too drunk so fine guy ended up having to take care of her). He took me back to his, gave me water and food, held my hair while I threw up, and put me to bed. That morning, we lay in bed causally talking, not touching (because he’d been raised properly and knew not to come near me unsolicited). However, the room was hot af so I decided to take my top off ‘discreetly’. Fine guy noticed and got excited. Soon after, his head was between my thighs– perfect.

But, there was one fucked up thing: throughout the whole ordeal, there was a dialogue going on in my mind. It was as though a short red man with a pitchfork was sitting in my head, making snide comments and remarks about everything that was going on between me and fine guy in the room. This devil-man, who I strongly believe was sent from Patriarchy HQ, was eagerly trying to influence and control not only what I did during sex, but how I thought of what I did during sex. I found myself self-consciously navigating between what I wanted to do and what fine guy would possibly think of what I wanted to do. I stopped myself from saying the shit I wanted to say (read: very very dirty talk). I consciously thought of the way I gave him head, trying not to be too ‘porn-star like’, even though I really just wanted to be on my knees getting mouth-fucked. I was terrified that fine guy would think of me as a ‘slut’, ‘cheap’, ‘nasty’, all adjectives no one should give tany fucks about.

As a woman-girl who grew up in a particularly sexist society, I have to keep scrubbing my mind clean of the subtle, subconscious remnants of misogyny my upbringing left me. This experience with fine ass guy and devil-man made me realise how deeply society’s bullshit is still embedded in me despite my continuous efforts to dismantle it. It showed me that misogyny can rear its ugly, toxic head in our lives (uninvited) in ways we may not even be aware of. The mere fact that the devil-man from Patriarchy HQ was let in through the doors of mind, showed me that even though my feminist beliefs are concrete af, I can still do a better job of implementing them, and putting them into everyday practice without caring about the supposed ‘repercussions’.

I’m a hardcore believer that as women, we should really do whatever (or whoever) we want, whenever we want. I’m also the first to shout about how we need to claim our bodies, spaces, sexuality in real ways, not the cookie-cutter shit that’s easy for mass consumption, or a MAC makeup campaign or for social media likes. So why did I feel slightly, dare I say it, ashamed of being the raw version of myself during sex with, essentially, a stranger?

Coming to terms with the fact that society’s standards still influence how I perceive myself and experience myself wasn’t easy. A part of me almost feels ashamed for having even experienced this. But the truth is, there’s no shame in honesty; and there’s no shame in learning. There’s also no shame in admitting that I can do a better job of not giving a fuck what society thinks, or what guys think, or what devil-man sent from Patriarchy HQ has to say. As women, all that should be the least of our worries (like all the way at the bottom of the dumpster rotting away sort of least), and there should be no room in our heads for any voices but ours.